Preserving My Youth
by Hey Lady Hey
Summary: I, Murdoc Niccals, am afraid of aging. I'm afraid to die. I'm afraid of disappearing. [Slight Murdocx2D]
1. Preserving My Youth

Preserving My Youth

PG

One shot

Summary: I, Murdoc Niccals, am afraid of aging. I'm afraid to die. I'm afraid of disappearing. (Slight murdoc/2D)

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I squint as the bright light is beamed into my eyes, placing a hand over my sensitive red one. In any other situation, I would grumble and protest, perhaps start a fit. I'm good at tantrums, and getting what I want. I'm a rock star. If I don't want green M&M's in my bowl, I won't have them in the bowl or I'll throw a fucking fit. What I want is what I get.

I get whatever I want, no matter what the cost is to anyone else. With our first paycheck, I bought the Winnebago instead of paying the bills. Every whore, slut, groupie I've ever wanted, I got, even if it meant breaking some boyfriends' hearts or it cost more money then she was worth. My image not tough enough? A black eye, wounded pride, migraines for 2D.

Even though the light is so bright, so _white_, everything else around looks so much darker in contrast. The walls are yellow, the flag seems dipped in shadows, and the knives give off a glint that make my blood run cold. The water is running in the kitchen, plates and cabbage patch kids put off to the side, as cold as it can possibly go. The water's also running in the shower, the door open and the water freezing. I shift in the soiled mattress, mumbling something along the lines of _'Satan, my head hurts...'_, I don't remember anymore.

(Loss of memory comes with old age, they say.)

_"Is there an' offering 'low the bed? An', an', th' cross... it's..."_

_"Mm-hmm."_

I sigh, my head falling to the side. I feel old. I feel so old. My beer gut hangs over my white briefs, the ones I got for this occasion. My skin looks sallow in the light, and my flesh is wrinkled.

(Disgusting...)

I watch as my fingers move slowly, making random motions. Skin stretches over bone, and I swear I can actually see inside myself, my worn muscles moving according to how my nerves tell them too. Veins clogged with Satan-knows-what, bright blue and spidery, a highway to pump my blood through my thirty-nine year old body.

(Almost 40.)

The slight movement of his body, which is next to mine, makes me jump. I chew my lip, staring intently. Was he awake? He had taken five blue pills and two of the big white ones, which was a guaranteed combination to put one into a deep sleep. Also known as a coma. _'Been into one before, brain ache...'_ I think, as I tentatively flatten down 2D's blue spiky hair, onto his forehead which is beading with perspiration from the bright light above. His eyes are closed, and he looks peaceful. Ignorance is bliss.

(My god what have I _done_ to you, dullard?)

I look at brain-ache, and it's deja vu all over again. Last time I saw him like this, he was bandaged up and I was sitting next to him, holding his hand just to feel his pulse. I felt it strengthen, slowly.

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

Slowly, softly, tenderly, I take his hand, feeling his pulse. It feels dull; like that day I dented Stu-pot in the eye. I sigh, let his hand fall onto the mattress, and turn away, staring intently at the new flag _he _put up, saying it'd bring good luck. I hate it. I want my confederate flag back.

_"Mr.Niccals," _The shower is turned off, and I hear Dr.Fluffchester empty the ice into the kitchen sink. There's more loud noises as he moves the 'DedEx' boxes around, so they're in close range of the bed. _"We're almost ready. Is Mr... Two-Dents ready?"_

He says the name like those goddamn fan girls. Everyone loves 2D. He's innocent. He gains pity every time I punch him. Applause with any even remotely witty saying. Swooning with any unintentional movement of the hips, batting of the eyes.

(I'm jealous of a fucking retard who's sitting in a coma.)

_"Yea, yea, he's ready. We're both ready, so can't you two fuckin' hurry up?" _I snarl, lifting myself up weakly with my elbow, giving the cross-dressing Dr.Fluffchester and dirty glare. He swallows, nervously skittering off to go find _him_.

I fall back against the bed, exhausted, panting for breath. My lungs are destroyed from smoking whatever I could get my paws on for years. I look up, at the light, before turning my face to the wall again. I'm ready.

(No, I'm not, I'm such a fucking pansy. I'm turning 40. My dad died at 53..)

My eyes feel heavy, and I give in, falling into a light sleep. Figures dance in front of my eyes; 2D, dancing on the set of Dirty Harry, carefree and full of energy...

(As I struggle to stay awake, drowning myself in booze so I wont notice my face in the mirror when I stumble in the hotel room.)

Waving goodbye to Noodle as she sets off on the windmill-

(She hasn't came back..)

Caught Russel overeating again; he still misses Del. And Noodle out on her own worries him...

(Self-destruction is a terrible thing to witness.)

THUMP.

I scream, bolting upright and panting heavily. Sweat's dripping down my face, and my grimy hair is plastered to my forehead. I brush the hair away from my eyes, giving the man before me a stony glare.

Dr.Wurzel grins at me, the knife that his hand's wrapped around buried deep into the wood of my closet. He has that look on his face; and I swear he'd rather have that knife buried in my chest, with me gasping like a speared fish underneath. He looks just the same as he did a few years ago, with his outrageous afro and glowing white eyes. He pokes a tongue out of the missing tooth he has on the bottom of his jaw, making a queer whistling noise that reminds me of the soundtrack to one of dullard's shitty zombie flicks.

_"Hullo, Mudsy." _He hisses softly, wrenching the knife out of the cupboard. He looks down at my upright cross, and lets out a wheezy laugh. _"My god, are you desperate."_

_"Shut th' fuck up, I only called you- nobody else will do it, fuck, an' I want this."_ I snarl, clutching at my stripped down bed. Dr.Wurzel still gives me the willies. He had stolen my old Winnebago, an obsessed fan gone over the edge. Used to be our manager, right at the beginning, where he got us our first gig. We dumped him; we didn't love him, but he still loved us. _"I'd rather fuckin' turn Christian then see your face but..." _I falter. He's the only one who'd do this, who wouldn't tell anyone that I was drugging my lead singer to steal his organs.

_"You're so, so desperate, aren't you, Mudsy?"_

He walks forward, and uses the flat of the blade to tilt 2D's face to the side, whistling tunelessly to himself. My stomach drops, and I think I'm going to be sick.

_"Hmm, fuuuh-nee, he does look like that doll you made." _He says, looking at me, his eyes sparkling. I grimace.

_"Let's get this shit over-"_

_"Mr.Niccals, this is my show." _He hisses loudly, too loudly, spinning on me with the knife inches from my face. _"And, unless you want to say bye-bye to being young again and die soon like your ol' Papa," _A grin covers his face, painted on like an ugly clown. _"Then shut- yourself- up."_

I want to say something. Anything. Show this dirty fuck-nut who's boss, god damned jerk off, who the fuck does he think he's messing with? But all I do is grit my teeth, giving him something between a smile and a grimace.

(I don't want to die i don't want to die i don't want to die.)

He turns to 2D, motioning for Dr.Fluffchester. He stumbles over his high-heels, blushes, and then grabs the anesthetic. He wheels the green stuff over, which is sitting from a bag, ready to drip down and make me go night-night. Wurzel takes his knife, and with speed I hadn't reckoned coming from him he snatches my arm. The knife nicks a cut a few centimeters deep, and I bite my lip to keep from yelling. I wonder, too late now, if he is actually a doctor or just dislikes the name Mr.Wurzel.

Blood drips off of the knife, my own blood, and he wipes it calmly onto his starched white coat, a bright red splash of ugly. He motions calmly to Dr.Fluffchester, who's inspecting his nails.

_"Anesthetic."_

Fluffchester hands it over, and he jams the tube into the cut. I stifle a scream, noticing the blood dripping slowly from the wound, the tube already pumping the green gunk into my system.

(Lights out in 5, 4, 3, 2...)

My eyelids droop, mouth hangs open slightly. Dr.Wurzel doesn't notice, going on to 2D and cutting his wrist open. Blood splatters.

_"Watch it, fucknuts. Don't you- you better not..."_ My head spins. Everything is going black, and I barely register the insane man turning to look at me, watching me coldly. _"Don't hurt... him..." _But my voice is weak. Not just from the anesthetic. From the realization. The irony. Bitter, bitter, it's more bitter then the tangy blood I taste in my mouth, after Wurzel hits me hard, and I bite my tounge, and he's looking at me-

_"You dun worry, Mudsy. I'll cut him up- just for you." _He growls.

(You're going to kill him, to save yourself. 2D. Stu. Gone. Dead.)

And it's _black_.


	2. Ever After

**AN HOUR AFTER THE SURGERY**

After awakening from the surgery with an empty tube stuck in his wrists and melted ice dripping from a bloody bin, he had nearly rolled over onto 2D, yelling in pain as the anesthesia tube was pulled right from the cut. It oozed fresh blood, a bright red bubbling over the browning, older blood from the beginning of the surgery. He scratched at it dully, his mind still half asleep, wondering why he was bleeding.

Realization hit, and he sat up, nearly collapsing from the rush of blood to his head and sudden wooziness. Surgery. Fluffchester. _Wurzel_. His arms flailed about, hands patting to make sure every body part was still attached after leaving his unconscious body in the hands of the two.

Stomach: Check (Scar? Scar... Oh, surgery...)

Arms: Check.

Nose: Check.

Eye: Check (GoddamnitijustpokedmyeyeSATAN)

Legs: Check

Penis: Check (So, he didn't castrate me- must've been in a good mood.)

2D: Ch-

Murdoc froze, and with a yelp clambered over onto 2D, straddling his near-naked body as he shoved a finger against the pulse in his neck. A wild look crossed his face, as he felt _nothing_ against his fingers, looking dark against dullards very, very pale skin. There was no pulse. And there was no reply, when Murdoc finally managed to mumble, "Hullo dullard?" his voice cracking, his other hand tightening around 2D's wrist. Searching for a pulse. Any pulse. But from the stains of blood on his chest and the way his tongue lolled from his mouth.

Murdoc felt his teeth chatter. This couldn't be right. Why was he dead? He smoothed 2D's hair down, softly, slowly, not even realized as his pace increased and his mind reeled. Dead. Gone. My singer, my band mate. His hand frantically ran over the other's bright blue hair as he stifled a choking sob. Murdoc leaned over, vomiting all over the carpet of the Winnebago, his stomach contracting until there was nothing left and he was left, heaving and shuddering.

"2...D?"

It was one of the first times he had ever said the singers name, truly said it with meaning. Suddenly 2D was not dub dullard, or nitwit, or numb nuts, or shit face, or ass hat. He was 2D.

* * *

**HOUR AND A HALF AFTER SURGERY**

"Satan, where'd you go?"

_'I dun know Murdoc, f'one instant, I was standin' at th' kitchen counter, takin' m'pills- th' kind that goes in th'water, y'know? That kind? Yeah, th' green ones, you knows what 'm talkin' 'bout.- An' then, I drink it up, an' I feel all woozy. So's, I go to my room, took a few more migraine pills- th' blue n' black ones, y'know, an' one yellow so's they dun make me sick all over again- an' then I wuz out! Like a light!' _He imagined 2D saying, babbling in the way only a halfwit like him could. But there was no voice, no 2D to irritate him with a nerve-grinding whine.

He was gone.

Murdoc's feet dangled over the edge of the cliff, a small precipice that hung over the landfill known as their backyard. A zombie ambled past down below, groaning as he sidled along. Murdoc took up a rock, flinging it as hard as he could, a grunt escaping his lips. The rock merely bounced off the un-dead's head, and it ambled out of sight behind a mountain of trash.

"I'll... I'll make it up t'ya, dullard, I swear..." He whispered, clutching the few blades of grass under his fingertips.

He stood slowly, looking out at the trash mountains. He could spot his old Winnebago, the one 2D never got to see the inside of because he 'was a fag, git your scrawny ass away, dullard!'. So was that old red car, which used to sit in the carpark.

* * *

**2 HOURS AFTER THE SURGERY**

2D had been told by Russel once, when long night after drinking beer and doing Jell-O shooters, that there was a place in everyone's spirit that you can go into. He said, with a drunken swagger, thick beer slopping from the can, _"Hell, everyone 'as there own self, there own little place... I share mine wit Del an' all them, an' everyone has a different place. Most... most people don't go there 'til sumthin' bad happens, 'cuz it's your mind, and if you fuck sumthin' bad up in there, it's not good... but, it's your body, tellin' you to rest, if you go there. You only go there for a reas- MURDOC, you fuckin' cracker ass, git the hell off the lamp!"_

The singer barely remembered the even, where the only proof of Russel talking about such a sensitive subject was the amount of cans and bottles all over and a disgusting stain on the lampshade. But he remembered it now, as he sat up quickly, looking blankly around.

He was sitting on a plush, maroon lounge couch. From the looks of it, he was in a dance club, dark except for the disco lights that flashed all around. He stood slowly, walking numbly to the dance floor. Where was he? Was this...?

He bumped into a person, and mumbled a quick excuse me. 2D then noticed, with wide eyes, it was _Murdoc_ in his younger days, before Russel had punched him in the nose.

"_Muds_! Whoa, I... wot th' hell are you doing here? Wot am I doin' here?"

But he just kept dancing. He was only a memory. 2D blinked unbelievingly, then stumbled on, not noticing where he was going amidst the writhing crowd of people. They were all dancing to a song beneath a song, a tuneless thing that somehow spoke wonders to the singer. This music, this dance... it was him.

He scrambled onto a stage, his long legs stumbling over themselves. Was he dead? Why was he here? It felt comfortable and familiar here, but he did not want to stay here. He wanted to get back to life, away from the seductive thump of the unknown song and the ocean of memories dancing in his head.

The microphone found it's way into his hands. He gripped it naturally, and he looked out into the crowd. The music fell to a hush, and 2D tapped his foot gently. The song came to him. He took a deep breath; ready to sing-

2D woke up, coughing and sputtering. He felt a trickle of blood run from his mouth. Shaken, he looked around. He was in Murdoc's... bed? Murdoc, who was sitting on the floor, was looking at him palely, his jaw slack. Both of the bassist's eyes were red from what looked like crying.

"Wot... wot did those drugs do t'me? I dinnit sleep wif you, did I?" He asked wildly, noticing he was only in a pair of tighty whities. Murdoc said nothing, just gaping quietly. 2D raised an eyebrow, sliding down from the bed and landing on his feet.

"Geez, Murdoc, you act like you jus' saw a ghost."

* * *

**THE SURGERY**

"Fuck it, Fluffchester, get me more anesthetic!" Dr.Wurzel shrieked, his voice careening up to an impossibly high pitch. He quickly used his fingers to close the wound, blood spurting from the cut vein. 2D was making awful faces, his complexion getting paler and paler.

"DOCTOR! DOCTOR, IT'S DOCTOR, AND IF YOU DON'T CALL M-" Fluffchester snapped back, his girlish voice shrieking high above Wurzel's. It was quickly cut short as the madman lost patience, and he whirled around.

(Let me tell you, many things happened in that second Dr.Wurzel spun around.

Well, Dr.Fluffchester immediately shut up, for his throat was being throttled by a Dr.Wurzel, who was screaming, "You're a **FAKE**, a **HACK**, SO SHUT THE **FUCK** UP!"

Because Dr.Wurzel had his hands occupied, the vein was now spurting blood everywhere, splattering on the bed sheets.

Because Dr.Fluffchester was occupied by the fact that he was being strangled, no anesthetic came, and therefore, 2D very clearly felt all this.

Because 2D felt the impact of his life blood emptying itself out over his new white skivvies, he started screaming as loud as humanely possible, and then some.)

And so very suddenly, everything was in a world of chaos. Dr.Wurzel drained of color, throwing Fluffchester back as he hurriedly rushed back over to 2D. He grabbed the vein tightly, plugging it and with a finger while he was fumbling with his stitches. He needed to sew up the vein, never mind the screaming, fuck Fluffchester, he should have a sandwich, lets go kill Russel's pig-

"S-sir, I have the anesthetic!"

The insane man turned around, his blank, white eyes blinking rapidly. He ran a hand through his hair, giving a bright red smear over his ginger curls. "Then put... put it up. So he stops. Stops screaming." His voice was suddenly quiet, and even amidst the din of 2D's shrieks, Fluffchester heard him loud and clear. He hung up another bag of anesthetic, and the singer soon fell into a hushed slumber, his face twitching spasmodically. Dr.Wurzel started to silently sew up the vein, his face blank of emotion.

"Doctor... W-wurzel, sir? I-I'm sorry, sir, shouldn't question you,s-sir."

He faced the back of Doctor Wurzel's long white coat, cowering in his two-inch heels. Dr.Wurzel suddenly hunched down, and an uncomfortable quiet sweeped the room, only interrupted from the soft, steady drip of anesthetic.

"You people," His voice was very different- it was no longer that kind, slightly high-pitched voice. It was deep and throaty, and it dripped of poison. "Make me sick. Cowering. Sniffling. Tell me, Fluff-_fucker_, do you see these two men before you?"

"Y-yes, sir, I do, sir," (_'OMG i lyk just peed miself...'_)

"Murdoc Niccals. Stewart Tusspost. They have just _swapped organs_. Do you know... how insane that is? All organs, and we did it, using Betty," His head bobbed towards the butcher knife that stuck out of the wall, still bloody from opening the two band members up. "Some shitty anesthetic, a little bit of blood, and an ice box. Swapped organs, so Mudsy can live a few extra years. And so 2D can die a much, earlier death.

"Where will Mr.Niccals go, do you think, when his young, supple singer dies much younger then he? What do you think he'll do, when he realizes Two-Dents is dead, because of his fears? Hmm? I think he will die. Mudsy will simply die, wither away, because 2D is more to him then he will ever... ever realize. He cares." He slammed his fist down hard on the side table, and the equipment jumped. He turned on his heel, his face wild.

"And I care, Dr.Fluffchester! I care for Murdoc, despite it all, fuck, fuck, FUCK IT! Mudsy means... too much to me, to fuck him up. But he's not gonna die, is he? No, he paid, so he's still going to get his organs."

"Y-yes he will, Dr.Wurzel, fr-from Mr. Two D-dents."

And there, Dr.Wurzel grinned. "But then, 2D needs organs. He can't keep his shitty Mudsy organs." He gestured to the organs in the icebox. "Where's he gun git them, huh?"

(_'Lyk yah I jus peed miself.'_) "Um, I, uh..."

He stuck his tongue through the gap in his teeth, reaching behind him to wrench Betty from the wooden door. "_You_."

* * *

Hey, Author here, Muh Says The Cow. THANK YOU GUYS SO FRICKEN' MUCH for the feedback. I loves it, baby, I loves it. Anyway, make sure you check out my other stories. I have one about Russel and Del, called 'Don't Get Lost in Heaven', so make sure you check it out, love-uh-lys. I'm almost done it, and I'm writing the final chapter.

Okay, so some questions:

How would you guys like if I wrote a story about Dr Wurzel? Like, how he got the band their first gig, and why he's so obsessive with Murdoc.(Or, how he likes to say, Mudsy. 3) But, reply with your thoughts, or email me at moosaysthecow AT comcast DOT net. You can IM me at MUHSAYSTHECOW. Or, just review.

Sorry if the order confuses you, but I really liked how I wrote this. If you're confused, the first three parts are in order from an hour after the surgery, then progresses forward. The fourth part is the surgery itself, which happened before everything else.


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